


Broken Routine

by DramaticMarvel



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Canonical Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-01
Updated: 2013-11-01
Packaged: 2017-12-31 03:32:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1026753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DramaticMarvel/pseuds/DramaticMarvel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The blank screen taunts him as he thoughts remind him that it wasn’t always this way.  Because for a few months, his routine wasn’t so lonely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken Routine

                 Steve Carlsberg never felt like he belong in Night Vale.  Between the government that had banned writing utensils to building large and needless drawbridges in the middle of the desert and the horribly hot temperatures, Steve always felt like an outsider in the little community that he called.  While most kids in Night Vale enjoyed the spontaneous snow days sponsored by the government in the middle of July or when they decided to test a new kind vaccination in the cafeteria food that somehow made all of the students float up to the ceiling, Steve never cared for it.  It is not to say that Steve didn’t have fun floating around or playing in the snow, he just didn’t think it was very practical.  And, despite living in Night Vale, Steve was a very practical man. 

                Every morning, Steve woke up at precisely seven to his alarm clock playing “Never Going to Give You Up” by Rick Astley, as somehow was the only song left programmed into his phone after he let Cecil Palmer borrow it at one of the PTA meetings.  Never the less, after walking up and going through his morning routine of pilates and his morning jog on the slightly used treadmill the Secret Police auction off after ruling out running to death to be a suitable form of torture, came breakfast.  Sitting alone at the breakfast table eating his bowl of cornflakes and drinking his hot oleander tea reading the paper and sighing over whatever depressing news decided to greet the cover. 

                After breakfast, Steve would get into his tan Corolla and drive around the city, just looking at the people doing their every day routines.  Old Woman Josie working in her garden with six of the Erika’s standing around, holding her seeds, watering can, and sacrifice to the garden spirits.  From the window of the Night Vale Community College, he can see Simone Rigadeau straightening her blanket and pillow on the lower bookshelf in the storage closet she sleeps in.  The last stop is always Rico’s Pizza to pick up dinner, though lately there has been a line around the corner with the rumor that Big Rico has been putting addictive substances in his pizza, and it never seem worth stopping and getting assaulted by the Hooded Figures who have been doing just about anything to get a slice of his new pizza.  Also eating dinner alone just never sounds appealing. 

                Back home, he curls up on the couch he pulls out his laptop and stares at the blank screen.  The curser blinks over and over again shouting at him to write something but lately the words don’t come, or at least not the words he wants.  The blank screen taunts him as he thoughts remind him that it wasn’t always this way.  Because for a few months, his routine wasn’t so lonely.

                He used to wake up with a whisper of “Ya tebya lyublyu” in his ear and a smooth kiss to his forehead.  After morning pilates and his run he used to have a fresh waffles, made from non-wheat products, and strawberries or a 4 cheese omelet with a smoothie, all made especially for him and waiting at the table where he didn’t have to read the newspaper for conversation.  After breakfast he never had to leave the house except to go to the Michaels’s for some new feathers.  One way home he could stop Gino’s Italian Dining Experience and Grill and Bar, because he wouldn’t have to eat alone.   Then he would return home and peck at his computer, the body behind him warming his back and he reclined into the strong chest and felt his arms wrap warmly around him pulling him close and whispering “Ya tebya lyublyu” softly as the sounds of Game of Thrones played in the background..

               Slamming the laptop close with uncharacteristic force, Steve closed his eyes, breathing sharply and counting to five before placing the laptop back onto the table and retreating to his room.  Once in the room, and into the soft bed, he clicks on the radio as he turns off the light and Cecil’s voice fills the room with his warm honey tones talking about some new stop sign they want to add downtown.  It didn’t matter what he says, it’s the same thing every night something about a new sign or another warning about not going into the dog park or another intern dying.  It didn’t matter what he said, his voice filled the room and made it seem like it wasn’t so empty.  Cecil’s voice seemed to melt all the shadows that haunted the room and for that he didn’t care what the man said.

              "And listeners,"  Cecil cried excitedly through the speakers.  Steve had gone to school with Cecil since they were children and Steve could practically picture the smile plastering his face.  "You will never guess what Perfect Carlos did this morning."  Okay, Steve didn’t care what he said as long as it wasn’t that.  "He made me breakfast, a 4 cheese."  Or that. 

             With a slight whimper he reached across the bed and pulled a feathered headdress into his arms, clutching it like a child would hold a blanket in a storm.  As if a stupid blanket could protect the skin from thunder or a headdress from someone’s words.  Perfect Carlos.  Stupid Perfect Carlos.  What Cecil saw in that man Steve would never know.  He was just a silly scientist, he wasn’t a hero or anything.  No, heroes saved lives.  They died so people could live, even though all they got was a secret funeral that nobody could attend and buried somewhere in the desert where nobody could find them.  Not even their boyfriend who just wanted to leave flowers or say a few words or at least say “Ya tebya lyublyu” one last time. 

            In the background Steve could hear Cecil had already changed topics to the weather.  Shifting in the bed slightly, Steve could feel the once soft feathers now stuck together at odd angles in wet clumps.  He would have to make a note to stop by the Michaels’s to pick up some new feathers to replace the old wet ones.  But for now, he curls himself into a ball, next to the now cold spot on the bed that he doesn’t dare cross and closes his eyes as he hears Cecil whisper “good night, Night Vale”.

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to the lovely and talented carcino-cat-nip on tumblr for telling me if I don't write this she will report me to the secret police.


End file.
